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ambitionsource · 2 years ago

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AMBITION “Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death” [ 4.10 ]♮PART 2, half 1

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Farkle and Isa have returned to one of their tried and true pastimes, watching a movie together. Also true to their word, it’s impressive how swiftly they’ve fallen back into certain levels of comfort -- they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch and sharing a blanket, Isa half-resting on Farkle’s upper arm like a bony pillow. They exchange light commentary as the film goes on, because it would be against their nature not to.

In a new form of nature, Isa can’t seem to stop losing focus on the movie. They can follow it enough to keep up the conversation, but they find their gaze keeps drifting elsewhere… right now, it’s landed on Farkle’s hand, resting on his thigh right there in front of them.

They could take it. There’s nothing stopping them from pulling their hand out from under the blanket and putting it in Farkle’s, linking their fingers together. It’s a surreal thought, having this much access so suddenly again, when they’ve spent so many months thousands of miles apart. The only thing stopping them is themselves.

And is it, really?

Before Isa can go down that rabbit hole, they’re spared with a different distraction. Their phone buzzes with a text. They pick it up and grow uncertain when they see Zachary’s name, then compulsively open the thread to read what he had to say.

Farkle picks up on their shift in demeanor. He pauses the movie, sitting upright.

Farkle: Everything okay? Isa: Huh? Oh, uh -- yeah. It’s just Zachary. Farkle: What did he say? Isa: They figured out who leaked it. Our connection. It was someone from Milo’s school. Farkle: Oh. Well, now that you say it, I guess that makes sense. Schools are big and leaky places. It’s honestly remarkable more shit didn’t get around Adams -- and that’s including the fact that we had a stupid Confessions page for a year. Isa: He’s wondering if I’d be willing to come back and talk things through. Now that they know.

Well, that’s good. Isn’t it? Farkle figures that’s a great sign. Isa seems less convinced, and their silence speaks for them.

Farkle: You’re not sure? You don’t want to go back? Isa: No. No, I mean, I do. I want things to work out, but --

But won’t this just happen again? Inevitably? Isa has a knack for ruining things. It’s basically in their blood. How many more times can they get their hopes up, thinking that this time will be different, only to ruin it all over again?

Farkle: Isa, this wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. Isa: No, actually, it does. Everyone keeps saying that, but they’re wrong. What is the common denominator here? Me. It’s me at the center of the scandal; it’s me who can’t socialize right or defuse any situation. Farkle: You’re not responsible for how people choose to perceive you. Especially when it’s willfully -- Isa: It’s me that the tabloids will eat up any bait about, including from petty exes, because I’m the easy target. It basically writes itself. I don’t want to put anyone else through that again. Not the MacNamaras. Not Zachary. I don’t need to add any more victims to my knack for destruction.

Besides, these last couple days have been fun. Nice. Comfortable. They want to keep enjoying that while it lasts. Farkle starts to argue, but Isa shuts down the conversation. They claim they’re tired and going to head to bed, but they thank Farkle for the movie and the company.

Reluctantly, Farkle lets them go. No sense in debate if they’re not willing to listen. Not now. Farkle says goodnight and watches them head back to his room, leaving him alone in the glow of the TV. He hates that Isa feels that way. That they’ve internalized so much unnecessary shame. It’s all unfair, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Well, maybe not quite. Struck with an idea, Farkle picks up his phone and steps into Maya’s room for a bit of privacy, shutting the door.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle dials a number he swore he wouldn’t be calling again, pacing the floor while he waits for it to go through. At least this time, he has a good reason. He doesn’t let himself chicken out, steeling his resolve.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - JORDAN’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

JORDAN NELSON looks at his buzzing phone, unable to hold back a smug smirk when he sees who it is. He knew he couldn’t hold out on him. He figured his display at the festival would be a fluke.

After letting it ring just to draw it out a bit, Jordan picks up.

Jordan: Well, Minkus, have to say. I didn’t expect you to last that long, but this is quicker than even I anticipated.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Ugh. Now that the lovesick spell has worn off, Farkle can’t help but be turned off by the obvious arrogance in Jordan’s tone. Only days ago he wouldn’t have noticed… infatuation is a funny thing.

Right now, he doesn’t want to hear it. He cuts right to the chase.

Farkle: I’m not calling for you. Don’t flatter yourself. Jordan: [ with amusement ] Then why else would you be -- Farkle: You have a good time talking to the tabloids? I’m sure they just hung on your every word while you fed them garbage.

Jordan’s amusement is gone in a flash. And he hesitates a second too long, betraying his guilt, which is all Farkle needs. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. His denial is uncharacteristically meek.

Jordan: I don’t know what -- Farkle: Nelson, save us both the time. You know I’m the better actor. I’m not gonna buy your bullshit.

So why the hell did he call? Before Jordan can find a way to turn the tables, Farkle powers through, channeling the feral edge he hasn’t harnessed in months.

Farkle: If you want to be petty and take your anger out on me, fine. Do that. Feed the press as many smear stories about me as you want -- only no one will care, because like you said, no one gives a shit about me. I’m a nothing. But leave Isa alone. They’re not your personal cash grab vendetta. Drop one more word about them, I mean even a whisper, and you’ll regret it. Jordan: Oh yeah? Now you’re all feisty. Or what, Minkus? What are you gonna do about it? Farkle: For starters, lawyer up. You think the Hollywood firms are sharks? You haven’t met my family’s team. And believe me, they’d just love to dig their teeth into a defamation suit. It’s been a while since someone thought it wise to try and slander my family.

And if that doesn’t work, isn’t enough of a threat, he should rest assured -- Farkle will find something. His family has resources, and Farkle is nothing if not single-minded.

Farkle: Given how you treated me, I have no doubt I’m far from the first person you crossed. Or used. Or paid off. If you keep harassing Isa, trust me, I will find them. And I will not rest until you’re just as exposed.

He may not fight for himself so fiercely, but coming for his people is the biggest mistake you can make. He worked hard to earn them, and he will do anything to protect them.

Jordan isn’t impressed, but he has been pretty thoroughly dissuaded from messing around any further. After a certain point, it’s just not worth the extra stress.

But he does insist on getting the last word.

Jordan: Just tell me this, Minkus. You’re really gonna grill me this hard over your shitty friend, two days after our breakup, and still act like there was never anything there? That I wasn’t dead on for being suspicious?

That what he had with Isa wasn’t exactly platonic? Farkle grits his teeth, fuming over Jordan thinking he has any right to criticize him…

But he can’t deny it. Not convincingly. Instead, he closes the chapter without an answer.

Farkle: Goodbye, Jordan.

Then he hangs up, ending it for good.

INT. HOSPITAL - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Riley makes her way through the halls in a rush, rehearsal bag slung over her shoulder. With her hair and makeup still done, it’s clear she must’ve come straight from NYU as soon as the curtain closed.

It doesn’t take her long to find Lucas.

It must not be a high-traffic hallway they’re in, because he and Asher haven’t moved. They’re exactly where they collapsed before, only having adjusted so that Asher is sitting against the wall next to him. Lucas has worn himself out, slouched with his head resting against Asher’s shoulder.

Riley slows to halt at the sight, Asher glancing up when he sees her approach. He offers her a weak, bittersweet smile.

Asher: He’s resting. That’s something.

What a dull silver lining. But you take what you can get in times like these. Riley huffs out a thin laugh even though nothing is remotely funny.

Quietly, they change the guard, Riley kneeling down while Asher gently scoots out from under Lucas. Naturally, this causes him to stir, but Riley swoops in to take Asher’s place before they can disturb him too deeply. Asher holds his breath.

Lucas: Riley? Riley: Hi. Yeah, it’s me. Go back to sleep.

She guides him close again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Lucas doesn’t put up much resistance, melting into the embrace and dropping his head against her chest.

She gives Asher a silent thumbs up, indicating she’s got it and he’s good to go. He nods in agreement, reaching for his bag and slinging it back over his shoulder as he gets to his feet. Riley mouths a thank you at him and he waves it off -- they all know why they’re here. No thank yous necessary. Each of them would do it in a heartbeat.

They can only hope Lucas realizes that.

As Asher quietly makes his exit, Riley shifts her attention back to Lucas, effortlessly settling back into the trenches. She encourages him to rest more fully against her, supporting his weight, softly stroking his hair and placing a kiss onto the top of his head.

EXT. MOTOR BOAT - DAY

Heather is seated with her things on a sleek, silver motor boat, looking drained and hollow. A couple other girls from the retreat have joined her, apparently having decided this opportunity isn’t worth the hoops or harsh reality.

The camera eases back as the motor boat takes off, headed away from the girl group yacht to shore. On the deck of the yacht, the crowd of remaining girls watches them go…

EXT. YACHT - UPPER DECK - DAY

Yindra amongst them. So much for a guaranteed ally in the madness.

Kimmy: This is so sad. I liked them. Tabitha: Are you kidding? Three less competitors. Who else wants to jump overboard? Sloane: It’s tempting, but I’m thinking more of a push… Madysin: How much do you think one of those boats costs? I would love to be able to jet off into the sea whenever I want. It’s on my wishlist once those first checks start rolling in.

The range on this yacht is astronomical… the girls start to head back inside. Yindra is one of the last to go, steeling herself for a rough remaining handful of hours as she walks back to the doors on her own.

Maya, pre-lap: What do you mean you’re leaving?

INT. MALIBU LAKE HOUSE - DAY

Melissa is waiting for her Uber to arrive, all of her weekend luggage gathered by the door. Maya and Justin are both in the entryway with her, the former more concerned about her sudden departure than the latter.

Maya: We just got rolling with those new tracks. You can’t go now. Melissa: I’m so sorry, babe, but it’s a family emergency. Believe me, if it were any other thing, I’d put it aside for this. Justin: She means it, too. One time, we were doing so well on a songwriting session, Melissa skipped out on her brother’s wedding to finish the track. Bro was not happy about that one. Melissa: But Justin is gonna be here, and besides, you hardly need us anyway. You’ll make it slamming, you always do.

Justin agrees, promising Maya they’ll walk away from this retreat with something big. He throws an arm around her shoulders.

Justin: I’ve got you. I’ll take good care of you, on my honor.

Well, suppose that’ll have to do. Melissa’s car arrives. She tells them she can’t wait to hear what they come up with -- and they better come to her office first thing to share.

Maya: Will do.

Maya does her best to hide her disappointment, like she’s not losing half her validation as Melissa heads out the door.

INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING AREA - DAY

That afternoon, it’s not Jack, but SHAWN HUNTER who swings by to visit. Before Lucas can question what he’s doing there, Shawn raises a preemptive hand.

Shawn: No questions. No “aw, shucks” surprise or telling me I don’t need to be here. I’ve heard it all before, because I was you first. Let’s skip over that part.

Hurts to be so predictable. Shawn says he’s starving, and that Lucas better be too. Because they’re grabbing lunch, right now.

Lucas: Cafeteria sucks. Just so you know. Shawn: Oh, we’re not eating in this dump. [ to the desk attendant ] No offense.

No, Shawn has other plans. They’re getting out of here for a minute. They’re going away, getting Lucas some much needed space and out of this cold, septic building.

INT. YACHT - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Equally thrilling developments await the girls on the retreat, as they start the morning by being informed that they’ll be left alone for this final day of the trip. That’s right -- no producers, no executives, no more consultants.

Ronica: Thank fuck.

Instead, they’re letting them make their own decisions for the day… mostly. There’s still the cameras around, of course, and they do have an assignment they’ll be working on for the final presentation tomorrow. As the producers explain, they’ll be self-sorting into two smaller groups, where they’re to collaborate on a performance routine entirely on their own. Music, harmonies, choreography, all of it -- that’s up to them, and all in their hands. A way to flex their group muscles, explore how they best fit into the big picture, discover their own strengths… and see who has natural leadership.

Once they create their presentations, they’ll come back together as a full group to perform the routines for one another and give each other constructive feedback -- a crucial part of any group chemistry. Then, tomorrow morning before the retreat ends, each group will perform them as their final audition. So it’s a chance to organically bond, in theory, while still being competitive and chock full of opportunities to make an impression -- for better or for worse.

Yindra isn’t sure, as the adults in the room head out, whether she’s glad they’re leaving or not.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

To Shawn’s credit, he was absolutely right about going outside. Just being in the fresh air, walking through Central Park, seems to bring some color back to Lucas’s cheeks. It’s a bit easier to breathe. He has more of an appetite too, actually eating the food Shawn got him as they walk through the park.

Shawn: Look, I get it. Like I said, I’ve been in your shoes. I mean, mine were cheaper because I didn’t have the guts to steal ‘em at eighteen, but you get what I mean.

He’s gone through this whole thing himself -- sitting around waiting for his shitty pops to kick the bucket. It’s not a fun time. All he wanted to do the entire time was run away.

Lucas: Jack said he tries not to dwell on it. Be negative, and shit. That it was complicated, but he tries to… give grace, or whatever. Shawn: Ha! Of course he does. That’s Jack for you. Why do you think he’s the dignified principal-turned-school-board-member, and I’m the dropout who had to borrow a job from him?

Suffice to say, Jack has always been better about compartmentalizing his feelings about things. But it’s not always that easy. Not everyone is Jack Hunter. He means well, with his sage advice, but that doesn’t mean it’s as simple as following it.

Shawn: Besides, it was easier for him. That’s not to discount his experience or anything, but he didn’t live with our dad the way I did. He left him and his mom when he was still in middle school -- I got a lot more of his bullshittery, a lot more of the time.

No, he wasn’t as bad as Kenneth, since he never physically laid a finger on him. But he was still a piece of shit, and that still left wounds. Some he’s still healing from to this day.

Lucas: So what, exactly? Jack’s full of shit? Shawn: No. The “so what” is that I’m trying to tell you, it’s okay that this sucks. That it fucking sucks, and there’s no “good grace” to give it. That’s real. It sucks, and he sucks, and just because he’s dying doesn’t mean you have to set all that aside or pretend it didn’t happen. That it’s not complicated or fucked up. People do this thing when people die, where it’s like history gets rewritten. And suddenly, we’re only supposed to remember the good things, because confronting the truth is too… hard. Too bitter. But that’s bullshit.

So Lucas doesn’t have to feel bad for Kenneth. He doesn’t have to feel anything, just because it feels like he should. All Shawn wants to do is make sure that Lucas gets that it’s okay for it to all feel turned upside down.

Shawn: And you’ll grow through it. I swear to God, you will. Not immediately, and not all at once. But you will. [ patting his shoulder ] Get through the right now. Then worry about the rest.

A different perspective than what he’s heard so far, but not unwelcome. And yeah, it’s nice to hear someone say he’s allowed to have his ugly feelings along with the complex ones, even if he’s not sure which ones are the true root of how he feels.

Grief, universal as it may be, is about as varied an emotion as they come.

EXT. BEACH - DAY

That’s a sentiment Isa is all too familiar with, that they’re feeling a bit of themselves as they walk along the sand. They’ve returned to the same beach they visited in 213, the small hideaway of a strip that was one of Valerie’s favorites.

Just like last time, Farkle is with them, trailing along behind as they pace along the water’s edge. It’s peaceful, neither of them feeling as though they need to fill the silence. Given how hectic the last week or so has been in Isa’s world, the sense of privacy and peace is more than welcome.

Isa: For all her faults, can’t say my mom didn’t know how to find a sacred spot. Ironic for someone who was so addicted to the spotlight. Farkle: The woman was an island unto herself.

Hear, hear. Isa approaches the water and crouches down, letting the sea foam soak their hand. Farkle comes to join, kneeling down in the sand.

Isa: Do you think she’s still out there? How long would it have taken for the ocean to send her ashes away? Maybe she’s like, all the way in… Vietnam, by now. Or New Zealand. Farkle, theatrically: She’s always out there, as the ones who love us never really leave us -- Isa: Ugh. Wah, wah. I get it, Dead Poets Society, thanks for the therapy truism.

Farkle grins. After a moment, he states he should take advantage of the water while he has it, scooping up some and scrubbing at his face.

Isa: What are you doing? Farkle: When you gave me that little Eurotrash birth mark yesterday, you must’ve used a fucking Sharpie. I’ve been scrubbing at it all morning and it still won’t come off. Maybe the salt water will corrode it away. Isa: Either that, or you’re just rubbing my dead mom’s ashes all over your face.

Okay, really pleasant! Thanks, Isa! Farkle gags lightly, causing them to burst out laughing. Then they feign support, telling him to turn towards them so they can get a look for themselves. Farkle does so, letting Isa take his face in their hands and caress his cheek as they gently tilt his head to get a good look.

The view is quite nice so up close like this, but honestly, Isa has already forgotten what they were supposed to be looking for. What were they talking about? How the hell does this keep happening?

At the risk of losing absolutely all their brain power, Isa creates a different diversion -- they sweep their arm down and splash a big amount of salt water onto Farkle’s face when the next wave crests the shore, causing him to gasp and sputter as he falls out of their grasp onto the sand.

Isa: There. Think I got it.

Farkle coughs up a bit of salt water, then shoots Isa a glare.

Farkle: You’re so dead.

Hey, no dead jokes on dead mom beach! But too late. Isa scrambles to their feet and takes off at a run just as Farkle launches up after them, chasing them down the beach.

Neither of them are athletes, and running on sand is hard as it is, but it was inevitable Farkle was going to catch them. His legs are about twice the length of Isa’s.

Isa: How are you running this fast?! You failed fitness week -- !

Farkle ignores the taunt and rams into Isa, colliding with them and sending both of them down onto the sand. Isa cackles, catching their breath as Farkle collapses half on top of them and falls into a fit of giggles of his own. He sits up on his elbow, doing Isa the favor of brushing some hair and stray sand out of their face.

And there they go again. Somehow, they keep ending up this close. Like cosmic interference. Or maybe defiance, since every logical bone in Isa’s body is telling them not to play into their own delusions.

They’re just friends. Farkle’s newly single. They’re reading too much into everything. It’s dangerous to read into it, not to mention stupid.

And yet, how can Farkle manage to look at them like that, the way he is now, and not have it be worth spending the rest of their life reading?

For a fleeting moment, Isa thinks about breaking convention. They think about acting without thinking, of choosing the dumb move, and acting on the feelings they’ve been pushing down since last year. Farkle’s right there, with his electric blue eyes and face so close to theirs -- truly, what’s stopping them? Why the hell not?

In this case, reality. After a moment, Farkle clears his throat and sits up, giving Isa back their space as he plops down onto the sand next to them. Abruptly ending the moment, whatever it is -- if it was anything at all.

It’s for the best. Isa is losing their mind, seriously.

At least with some separation, it’s easier to breathe again. Isa sits up as well and brushes the sand off their legs, flicking some onto Farkle next to them for good measure. It’s his fault they ended up on the ground after all. For a minute, they soak up the peace again, watching the waves ebb and flow into shore and listening to their melodic crash.

Farkle: Do you think she ever brought Zachary here?

Isa is startled by the question at first. But once the initial shock wears off, and the ocean soothes their nerves, they shrug.

Isa: No idea. If she did, she never told me. Farkle: Seems like the kind of place he’d like. Secluded, private. Kind of antithetical to everything else about her. Isa: I guess. Maybe that’s why she found it -- so she could prove to him she was capable of holding peace.

Look how well that turned out… and now it’s Isa sitting on the beach with someone they love, hiding from everything and everyone else.

Farkle: I was just thinking, with Zachary… Isa: I could tell. You’re not very subtle at segues. Farkle: I think you should talk to him. Give him a chance to talk things through.

Isa sighs, propping their elbows on their knees and hiding their head in their hands.

Isa: And you’re the expert on communication now? Farkle: No, I’m not. Far from it. But that’s kind of exactly why I think so. Being here, you know -- [ looking out to the water ] Last time you brought me here, it was right after my attempt. And I’ve grown from that, obviously, but I still remember how that time felt. Vividly. I don’t know that I’ll ever really forget it, or that it can ever go away. I’m always going to carry it with me. And one of the biggest things that stuck out to me, that I still think about, is what it would’ve been like to leave so many things unsaid. To cut all these relationships I had short so unceremoniously. No possible resolution; no closure. When I think about it, and all the people I would’ve left on the other side… I feel like that’s the worst thing I could’ve ever done.

Maya is an obvious example, given how they were before his attempt. But it goes for everyone. He thinks about that a lot more now, about the way he leaves conversations with people.

Isa: Is there something you’re trying to tell me? Farkle: I’m not on the knife’s edge again, no. But my point is, I wouldn’t want to leave all the important stuff left unsaid. I try not to take that for granted anymore. The fact is, by choice or not, we don’t know when you might lose your chance to find your closure. None of us know when time’s up -- Valerie sure didn’t.

Isa closes their eyes, letting that one sink in.

Farkle: I’m not going to tell you what to do. And you know that no matter what, I’ve got your back on this. I’m just saying, like… is this how you’d want your last conversation with Zachary to have gone? When you finally got him in your life at all? Think you and I both know better than anyone else how much worse it can be to avoid communication.

True enough… maybe even now. Isa takes his point, contemplating it as they open their eyes and gaze out towards the ocean again. As the waves roll in and crash into the shore…

INT. YACHT - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Out on the actual sea, the girls have begun their big project. They’ve finally been left alone and are now self-selecting, dividing up into their two groups.

Naturally, Tabitha has taken control of one group, loudly dictating what she thinks they should do for their number and eagerly -- but bossily -- throwing out ideas. Madysin has joined her as her right-hand man, both of them running roughshod over anyone else who has elected to join their grouping with bubbly enthusiasm.

Yindra seems reluctant to throw her lot in there… but on the flip side, Ronica has taken up residence in the other group, with Aleena and a couple others. While she may be more agreeable to work with, she’s the closest in vocal competition to Yindra. They’re basically occupying the same potential role in the group -- she can’t deny that. If she works with that group, she’ll avoid the teenage drama queens, but she might be risking being redundant.

Like Nigel said, she needs to seize her chance to stand out. It might be the only one she has left.

So Yindra bites the bullet and sidles over to join Tabitha, self-assigning herself to their group. They welcome her happily, Tabitha claiming she’ll easily boost their vocal score.

Tabitha: Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to build you in a solo somewhere. I want us to pull out every stop possible.

Well, that’s nice. Diva looks out for diva, suppose… Kimmy, also having joined this group, offers Yindra a friendly smile as they get down to business.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The calendar shows there’s no more countdown. No more waiting.

The Turner audition is here.

Zay is just about ready, sizing himself up in the mirror on the inside of his closet door. He’s dressed plainly as per the audition guidelines, just a muscle tank and a pair of dark dance tights. He finishes securing his hair into a short ponytail, out of his face and ready for action.

This is it. Time to bring it. He releases a deep breath, closing his closet door.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

Zay descends the steps and grabs his coat off the rack by the front door, Omar and DONNA BABINEAUX in the living room waiting for him. The latter gets up and comes to give him a hug, both wishing him luck. Although the glamor and fanfare is less in-your-face, the moment feels quite reminiscent of the Kossal audition all those years ago.

Donna takes his shoulders and reminds him that whatever happens, wherever he goes after this, they’re proud of him. Endlessly proud. Zay nods, then glances over her shoulder towards his dad. He tacitly echoes the sentiment again, offering a light smile.

With that, Donna gives him one more kiss on the cheek and then lets him go, sending him off to face the music.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Vanessa is already there, backstage in the wings as the auditionee before her finishes his oral interview post-routine. She’s also dressed plainly as required, wearing a maroon hued leotard and tights with a sheer ballet skirt over top. Her hair is similarly pulled back, in her case into a tight, curly bun on the back of her head. She’s also got her pointe shoes on, so you know she’s about to bring it.

That is, provided she can survive the walk onto the stage. As the interview before her is winding down, she’s starting to feel a bit light-headed. Her limbs are tingling, and the lights out there feel especially bright. Any second now…

She gets a surprise when someone comes to join her in the wings, jostling her shoulders from behind. She jumps and spins around, breaking into a smile when she finds Summer there. The two of them exchange a hug, Summer wishing her luck. She’s got this.

Summer: Show ‘em exactly who Vanessa Johnson is. Don’t take no for an answer.

Vanessa manages a smile, then a nod. And just in the nick of time, as the microphone invites her onto the stage from somewhere the audience.

Game time. Vanessa turns around, takes a deep breath, then marches onto the stage.

At the same moment, Charlie arrives with excellent timing. He pokes his head into the doors to the house and sees Vanessa entering through the wings, slipping inside the theater and quietly making his way to a seat in the back of the center section. He settles in just as Vanessa makes it front and center, squinting out through the lights towards the panel of three Turner faculty in the middle row.

Rosario Gao right at dead center. She leans forward towards the microphone.

Rosario: Are you ready, Miss Johnson? Vanessa: Yes.

If she says so. Gao nods to the colleague on her right, who turns and signals to the technicians in the booth to go.

Vanessa spins and faces away from them, taking her starting position. She closes her eyes as the lights dim and focus in around her. She inhales another deep breath…

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Little Bird” as performed by Jasmine Cephas-Jones || Performed by Vanessa Johnson

And exhales it on the imaginary stage, opening her eyes. She’s now front and center on this stage as well, the rest of the ensemble (sans the usual two empty blocks) standing in place on their marks behind her and cast in shadow once again. In this venue, she’s allowed to be far more fashionable, and she is -- her look is evocative of starlets and singers of decades past, shimmery even in a deep shade of black with billowy bell sleeves and a slit down the leg. Her hair is untamed, free and curly down her back SZA style.

The performance is split between the Turner audition stage and this one, emphasizing dance and singing respectively. While Vanessa executes the new routine she crafted to this track in just a few days, she vocalizes the sentiments in her own voice, thus acting as the backing track for herself in our version of the rendition. It doesn’t take long to recognize why she chose the song if she was digging for something more emotionally resonant -- some of the lyrics speak for themselves. Loudly.

Wish I could could tell ya Who breaks your heart Or the grass is greener when you don't wanna a boy no, no See life, will bring you down But your fire is blazing out

The song is about discovering your own worth, spreading your wings and letting yourself take flight -- without letting your insecurities and uncertainties cage you in. Accepting yourself as you are, and allowing that to be your greatest strength.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

And even more than her imaginary vocals, her performance conveys just that. Somehow, she’s managed to translate that struggle into choreography, and she delivers it as if every move could be her last.

Would be a nice sentiment for her parents to hear too… which is why it’s a great blessing that one of them decides to show up. Alexis steps through the house doors as silently as possible, better late than never, and scrambles to take a seat in the back. She’s immediately captivated by Vanessa’s performance.

It’s no wonder why. Vanessa is giving it her all, and it shows. The movements are sharp, precise, but also allowed to be imperfect. The imperfection is part of the journey, a reflection of those ways life bends and breaks you in ways you don’t expect. The parts she’s trying to learn to embrace, where you can’t always be exactly perfect.

Little bird, it's time Wings spread open wide Daddy said, walk on the wild side

That being said, her routine leaves no room for doubt as to her talent. It’s riddled with opportunities to show off -- spread her wings, so to speak -- particularly on the instrumental break. She executes a few difficult ballet leaps, stretches in and out of a split, falls onto her back before jumping back up with a flourish and launching into a spin.

Just like Zay said, she’s leaving it all on the stage.

Her imaginary self does the same with the vocals, absolutely nailing the last rendition of the chorus. The ensemble echoes her with harmonies from behind.

By the time the song winds down around 4 minutes in, Vanessa makes it to the conclusion, slipping into a set of fouetté turns. She lets the spins dwindle out seemingly like it’s natural, taking a more sweeping full-body rotation to drop back down to her knees on the stage. She tilts her head back and looks up towards the ceiling, letting her eyes flutter shut.

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Vanessa exhales the last breathy “fly,” the lights dimming around her and casting her in shadow.

Then the lights go down, concluding the number.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Considering how breathtaking the performance was, it’s strange not to hear it met with resounding applause. This is something both Charlie and Alexis stumble over, both having to fight their natural instinct to clap as the lights come up and Vanessa gets back to her feet.

Instead, it’s quiet. She walks to the edge of the stage and waits to be addressed, catching her breath and skin shining with sweat. After what feels like an eternity of silence, Gao’s voice comes on over the microphone.

Rosario: Thank you, Miss Johnson. Well done.

Vanessa is going to do her damnedest not to read into that rare praise. She nods, maintaining her composure, while the panel begins to ask her questions. They prattle through the usual generic stuff, like what she’s hoping to gain from admission and how her time in the transfer program has prepared her.

Gao, naturally, saves the hard-hitting question for last. In all fairness, though, she did prepare her for it… in a way.

Rosario: The Turner program is an elite, top-rated dance academy that boasts a cohort of highly dedicated, unique individuals. How will you set yourself apart in the class, should you be admitted, and what will you bring to the cohort?

In short -- who are you, Vanessa? Now is the time to say it. Vanessa thinks on it for a beat… then she opens her arms and shrugs.

Vanessa: To tell the truth, I don’t know.

She wasn’t going to figure it all out in a week. It’s doubtful Gao expected her to. But she confronts the question candidly, not running away from it like she did the week before.

Vanessa: I’ve spent a long time trying to reach the standards of others. To follow the path laid out for me, even if I didn’t choose it or understand what that meant for me. How it reflected -- or didn’t reflect -- my own dreams and ambitions. To say it created a hazy sense of self would be an understatement.

Gao listens silently, not betraying anything. In the audience, Charlie is somewhat surprised by how relatable the speech is. He would’ve never guessed, based on her usual confident persona.

And Alexis frowns, disappointed to hear it. Knowing she had a hand in it, wishing that she didn’t.

Vanessa: So the truth is, I’m still figuring out what makes me… me. How I contribute as an individual, how I… make sense in the world. But the one thing I do know is that dance is a part of it. Indisputably. It used to be the biggest part, but I’ve spent the last year realizing that maybe I’m supposed to be more than that. That the joy and passion of the art can only shine brighter when it’s a piece of the portrait, not the whole picture. I think that being a part of Turner Academy is the next step in discovering myself -- a place where I can learn who I’m supposed to be and how I contribute. So… if you can grant me the patience of learning as I go, I promise, I will prove myself worthwhile. I will commit, with everything I’ve got, and show the cohort what I can do.

She’s asking for a bit of grace, and room to grow. In return, she will bring it, full heart, every single day.

It’s a compelling pitch -- but just one of many. Gao finishes jotting down some notes and then thanks Vanessa one last time, dismissing her.

Just like that, it’s done. Nothing left to do. Vanessa gives a small bow and forces her feet to move, walking off into the wings. In the house, Alexis gets up and makes a swift exit, not wanting to incidentally step on Vanessa’s moment or cause her extra stress.

Gao calls the next person up, moving things right along. Charlie takes the transition time to get up as well, quietly taking the side door out.

INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING AREA - NIGHT

Lucas is slouched in one of the seats, head tilted back against the wall and staring towards the ceiling. He’s alone now, everyone else otherwise committed. He told them all not to bother, so he’s glad they’re not missing anything important… but the silence of sitting there alone is deafening.

He checks his phone when it buzzes with a text, Grace giving him an update from beyond the double doors.

“Ken resting now. Has been in and out of sleep most of the evening. Docs say typical for this stage”

He’s fading, in other words. Who knows how much longer it’ll be now. Lucas isn’t sure how to feel about that.

He gets a distraction when a familiar face makes his way through the doors, getting the attention of the attendant working the desk. JOE is there with a carry-out bag, gruffly informing the attendant he won’t be hanging around long. He’s just stopping by for a drop-off.

Lucas straightens up when he recognizes him, completely shocked to see him outside the diner. Once Joe makes his way over, he finds his words, brow furrowed in confusion.

Lucas: Why are you -- ? Joe: Heard through the grapevine what was up. Thought y’all might want some food that isn’t made in a hospital cafeteria.

He hands Lucas the bag, filled with diner delights made by his coworkers. There’s a few condolences and warm wishes written on receipt scraps, as well as a slice of Grace’s favorite slice of pie set aside especially for her.

Lucas doesn’t know how to react. He can feel his throat starting to hurt, so he swallows hard.

Lucas: You didn’t have to do all this. Joe: Like hell I didn’t. I only do shit because I want to. And what I wanna do is look out for my crew.

Which, of course, includes Lucas. He’s been an employee of his for almost two years -- that’s as good as family in his book. And he takes care of family.

Lucas doesn’t have words. Joe doesn’t expect any. They’re birds of a feather in that way. He simply settles for a bracing pat on Lucas’s shoulder instead, waiting for him to meet his eyes.

Joe: Hold on, kid. Tomorrow’s still on the menu.

No matter what happens, time will move forward. Grief will ebb; life will go on. And when he’s ready, the diner will still be there waiting for him. Whenever he wants to come back.

With that, Joe leaves him be, giving a curt nod to the attendant as he saunters out. Lucas looks down at the bag at his feet, letting those words of advice give him a modicum of comfort.

INT. YACHT - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

As the sun sets beyond the nautical horizon, the groups have reconvened to perform and get their feedback from each other. It seems Yindra’s group has already gone, as she’s seated on the couch between Kimmy and Tabitha while they watch the other girls wrap up their routine.

And to be fair, they’re serving. While you can say what you want about their personalities, there’s no doubt that the girls who have made it this far have for a reason. Aleena helped spearhead a strong routine in the alternate group, and her footwork makes up for the occasional moments where she’s flat in this run-through. Ronica outshines her vocally regardless anyway, shooting off some spectacular runs that make Yindra squirm a bit in her seat. While Sloane takes a back seat singing wise here, and her expression remains intense and focused rather than bubbly and endearing, her dancing is at peak form.

Once they finish their run-through, out of breath, silence falls over the room. Competition is being brought, there’s no doubt about that. It hangs heavy over their heads that only five of them are going to make it in the end -- there’s simply not enough room for all of them and their grand ambitions.

Sloane: Well? Thoughts?

It’s a challenge more than an invitation. For a long moment, the silence remains… then Tabitha shrugs, doing her best to come off nonchalant in an effort to hide her insecurity.

Tabitha: It was fine. Kind of pitchy, but --

Oh, that’s really all she has to say? With all the strong female energy in the room -- and the prevailing sense of cutthroat competition breathing down their necks -- it was only a matter of time before a spark caught fire. Sloane snorts, claiming Tabitha is full of shit, which sets off a chain reaction of input and snark from everyone else. It starts along group lines, but quickly devolves into taking shots wherever possible.

If the producers were worried about missing the drama, surely it was a needless concern. There’s plenty of catfight being caught on camera right now, and their presence being removed only enables people to be even more bold. It feels like straight out of Bravo, reality TV grade fodder. Yindra stares back and forth between all the yelling, for once more bowled over by diva behavior than from when she was at Adams.

Yindra: Oh my God, it’s like Zay and Maya on crack.

Kimmy is equally overwhelmed, uncomfortable with all the harsh words being thrown around and standing awkwardly above it all with her height. She clasps her hands together, somewhat hiding behind them, but also weakly tries to keep the peace.

Kimmy: Stop, y’all. We’re women supporting women…

Yeah, all that stuff goes out the window in this industry. It seems like the theatrics and petty fighting may never end, all the big personalities in the room just fueling one another like gasoline. Either that, or it’ll escalate, as it seems like Madysin and a couple of the other girls might just launch at each other.

Sloane has other ideas. She steps away from the madness as it’s unfolding and makes her way to the kitchen. She scans the cabinets looking for what she needs, then finds a suitable choice, picking up a bottle of sparkling cider from the wine rack.

Then she turns back towards the rest of them, keeping her unimpressed, sharp expression on her face as she takes the bottle and smashes it against the countertop.

That’s an effective way to get attention. All the girls jump, a few of them shrieking on instinct at the sound, as the bottle shatters and cider spews all over the kitchen. Sloane stares at all of them, holding out the neck of the bottle and dropping it onto the hardwood. She pointedly steps on it and crunches it under her combat boot, not breaking eye contact.

Yindra stares over Kimmy’s upper arm, basically indirectly using her as a human shield. The look on her face says it all though, wide eyes and jaw dropped open.

These bitches are crazy. Female ambition has a dark side, and she’s seeing it up close and personal. Adams Academy has nothing on this.

And she’s trapped with all of them in the middle of the Pacific, no way to escape but going overboard herself.

Sloane: This is fucking circus. Y’all can have my ticket -- I’m getting off the bandwagon.

She’s over it. She exits the main floor, a few other girls taking her lead and dismissing themselves. Yindra stays where she is, not sure whether she has the power to move her limbs back yet. They certainly created a spectacle, there’s no doubt about that.

And honestly, that’s probably exactly what the label wanted.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Zay is pacing impatiently, shaking out his arms and trying to stay loose before his turn. It’s coming up any minute now, and he’s using all the willpower he has not to get in his head about it. From prior experience, he knows that only leads to trouble.

Lucky him, he’s gifted a panacea just in time. He glances towards the door behind him in the reflection of the mirror, watching as it opens and a welcome face steps inside the room. Zay whips around, releasing a sigh of relief.

Zay: Charlie.

Indeed. He’s there, just like he said he would be, and he managed to sneak his way backstage to prove it before he went on. He smiles and steps further into the dressing room, meeting Zay in the middle.

Without thinking, Zay reaches out and takes his arms with shaky hands, jostling them playfully just as he’s using them for balance. Excitement, nerves, all that jazz.

Charlie: Hey. Zay: You’re here. Charlie: I said I would be, didn’t I? I’m getting better about holding my word, I swear. How are you doing? Zay: Good. Fine. Completely calm. Not feeling like I’m about to die or that my heart is gonna fall out of my ass. I’m so chill, it’s uncanny.

Charlie can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. He slips from Zay’s grasp simply to return the favor, touching his arms and then bracing his shoulders instead. He holds his gaze.

Charlie: You’re gonna be fine. Not even that -- you’re gonna be better than fine. You know you will be. Zay: Yeah. Yeah. Charlie: The only reason it didn’t happen last time is because you couldn’t show up. Not the way you usually do. This time, there’s nothing getting in your way. So there’s nothing that’ll stop them from seeing just how incredible you are. I know it. I have nothing but faith. Zay: Yeah. You’re right. [ taking a deep breath ] Thanks for coming. I’m really glad that you’re here. Charlie: [ with a soft smile ] Any time. It’s my privilege. But you would’ve been okay even if I couldn’t make it. You always are. You don’t need me. Zay: Well, I want you.

Here, that is. Didn’t quite come out that way, but…

Charlie feels it in his chest, like Zay just casually decided to drop a bomb on him. So normal and everything. He chalks it up to the nerves, to pre-audition jitters. No one really has control over their words right before a big audition.

Even so, Charlie delicately removes his hands from Zay and takes a step back, just so he doesn’t do anything he might regret. He isn’t about to audition, but Zay-jitters are an affliction he’s never quite figured out how to cure.

It hardly matters anyway, as a helper pokes her head in and lets Zay know it’s time for him to go backstage. He nods, thanking them, then exchanges one more anxious smile with Charlie.

Charlie: I’ll be right out there. You got this. Zay: Yeah. Charlie: Break a leg. [ a beat ] Just not your tendon. Zay: Fuck you.

It’s said with laughter, though, which is exactly what Charlie was going for. He mirrors his breathless grin and gives him one more nudge on the arm, then he leaves him to it, disappearing back through the doors. Zay takes the moment of quiet to himself to get centered, bottling up all the nerves he would never let anyone else see and burying it down.

Now, it’s just about the dance.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - ATRIUM - NIGHT

As Charlie is making his way back to the auditorium, who should he run into but Vanessa. She’s got her duffle bag over her shoulder and is on her way out, but she does a double take when she sees him heading back towards the side door.

Vanessa: Charlie?

He whips around, thinking he’s been caught trespassing, but he smiles when he sees it’s just her. He greets her and pauses to chat, commenting on the theater. Pretty nice venue, isn’t it?

Charlie: I honestly always wonder why they make us go all the way to some random other location for stuff like this -- Adams did this sometimes too -- but I guess it’s mainly for the aesthetic. It probably wouldn’t be as glamorous to do the auditions in the Turner theater or whatever. Vanessa: Right. Probably. [ a beat ] So, um… what are you doing here?

Charlie blinks, then laughs when he realizes it wasn’t obvious. He already forgot he’s kind of there on the down-low.

Charlie: Zay asked me to come.

Oh. Vanessa absorbs that, maintaining an impressively blank expression.

Vanessa: He did. Charlie: Yeah. You know, as a favor. Have some friend support in the audience.

True… although, look around. Don’t see Riley or Nigel hanging about, do we… Vanessa manages a weak smile, doing her best not to show how much this rattles her. How much she wishes it didn’t, that it didn’t create a sting of jealousy and a pang of hurt in her chest. It’s totally fine for Zay to want support for an audition. It’s natural, even. It shouldn’t mean anything that he asked a friend to show up for him.

But it’s not just a friend. It’s Charlie. He went to Charlie -- and didn’t even think to break the ice and ask her.

Vanessa: Right. For sure. Charlie: Luckily, I got here early enough to catch your audition too. You were awesome. I do not envy the admissions panel, I would not want the job of having to choose amongst you all. Though if it were my choice, you and Zay, easy. Vanessa: [ with a chuckle ] Thanks. From your lips to God’s ears… Charlie: I do have a direct line with him, so I’ll let him know. No need to thank me.

Okay, nerd… Charlie claims he better go back in there, because he doesn’t want to miss anything.

How could he, when Zay personally asked him to be there?

Vanessa nods, letting him go. He tells her one more time that she was fantastic, then books it over to slip back into the auditorium. She watches him go, a million thoughts creating chaos in her mind… then she turns and continues her walk out of the venue. Not letting herself look back.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Nigel is facing his own daunting task, trying to find the courage to bring up his transfer idea to his parents. The family is gathered around the small dinner table, like any other normal night, ERNESTO CHEY trying to engage LEONA CHEY in chatter while she’d rather be scrolling TikTok on her phone; REYNA CHEY discussing the days events with LIEZEL CHEY in a mix of Tagalog and occasional English. Nigel could keep his head down, stay quiet like normal, and nothing would change.

But he can’t. He knows he needs to do this. His parents support him -- if he can just get the words out, they’ll understand.

Nigel: I’ve been thinking about school.

He’s got their attention. It doesn’t take much, since he rarely demands it. Ernesto asks him to go on, all of them giving him polite, good-natured smiles -- except for Leona, who is scrolling through Instagram under the table instead.

She won’t be ignoring him for long. Once he stumbles a bit through how the last year at NYU has gone, and how he feels about the program (addressing all the pros as well as the cons in classic peacemaker fashion), he arrives at the point.

Nigel: I don’t think it’s quite the right fit for me. I think I’d like to transfer. Liezel: Oh, I’m sorry, Nigel. We thought you were enjoying the program. Ernesto: Surely we can find something better though. Whatever we can do to help --

This is good. This is exactly what Nigel wanted to hear. He smiles.

Nigel: Actually, that part I’ve already figured out. I do really love acting, and I think I’ve got more of an interest in playwriting, too. I don’t want to give that part up, I’m just not sure that New York is the right place to do it. For me. I’ve been talking to one of my friends from Adams, and she… well, I’ve done some research. And I think -- [ with a grin ] I really want to transfer to the UK.

For all his palpable excitement, that little nugget is met with silence. Liezel’s eyes widen, trying to process that. Ernesto isn’t sure he heard right. Leona’s mouth drops open.

Ernesto: The UK? Like, London? Nigel: Yes. Yes, there’s so many great options for theater there that have excellent credentials and alumni. Guildhall, LAMDA, ArtsEd. I’ve been looking into the programs, and I think with my grades, I could be eligible for a scholarship. So -- Liezel: Are you crazy? You cannot do this.

Oh. That’s not what you want to hear. Reyna watches the conversation silently, but her eyes follow it like a tennis match. Nigel hesitates, unprepared for his mom’s blunt response.

Nigel: I know it’s a big change. But like I said, I’ve done the research. It’s -- Liezel: You cannot go all the way across the ocean. For some… silly school. You have so many options here. Nigel: … I don’t see how me wanting to go to one of these schools is any different than NYU? Which you were in support of. It’s just a little farther -- Liezel: A little farther! Ha! Ernesto: A whole other country would be quite a big jump, Nigel. Nigel: Yeah, but I can handle it. You guys are always saying how mature I am. And this could be exactly what I need for my career. Liezel: Your career? That’s your big reason? Oh my --

Liezel is clearly overwhelmed, and it’s coming out as incredulity. Nigel frowns, growing frustrated.

Nigel: I don’t get how this is different than where I am right now. You were all for NYU. Why is that different -- Liezel: NYU is our backyard. It’s right here. You can stay here, you save money. You know the city and you have friends. It’s one thing to follow a dream like that when you have that safety net. Going all the way to another country with no guarantee… no. No, that is bad. That is not okay, Nigel. Nigel: This is so ridiculous! You always told me you supported my acting. You sent me to Shakespeare camp. You never discouraged me. Ernesto: That’s another discussion -- Nigel: You’ve always talked about how awesome it is, that I do what I do. That I went to Adams; that all my friends have such big talent and high hopes. You thought it was amazing when Jade went to L.A. Or when Yindra went there with no school and no plan. Hell, when I talked about Zay going out for all these touring auditions and stuff, you said it was cool. You said you hoped it worked out for him. Why is it great when he does it, but when I want to try for something more it’s -- Liezel, frazzled: You are not Zay Babineaux!

The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Even Leona is mute, staring between her mother and her brother with her mouth ajar.

Nigel is equally frozen, looking at his mother as though she’s a complete stranger. She really told him straight to his face that he’s no Zay -- that he isn’t cut out for this. That she doesn’t believe he has what it takes; that she could never support his change of plans, because it’s so damn silly of him to think he could.

They don’t believe in him. They never did.

Liezel’s cheeks are flushed, and she doesn’t look proud of what slipped out of her mouth. Even so, she doesn’t take it back.

Nigel gets up from the table without a word, throat thick and eyes glossing over.

Ernesto: Nige --

He doesn’t stop, disappearing to his room and slamming the door. A moment later, Liezel gets up and escapes as well, equally overcome with emotion. Ernesto sighs, pressing his hands together and closing his eyes to center himself.

Reyna looks after where both Liezel and Nigel left, a somber expression etched into her features.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

We follow Zay as he emerges from the wings and out onto the stage, aglow under the spotlights. Once he makes it front and center, focus shifts back to Gao and the panel. She asks him the same question as to whether or not he’s ready to begin.

Zay stares straight ahead, expression determined. Grounded. You’d never believe that just minutes ago, he was shaky and full of nerves in the dressing room.

Zay: Born ready.

Let’s see if that talk can be supported by his walk… he moves to the same starting point as the lighting adjusts, preparing for the audition to begin. Zay drops his head down, closing his eyes and taking a deep, centering breath.

Then he lifts his head as the instrumental track begins, eyes bright with conviction.

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Wait For It” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

Zay’s performance follows the same pattern as Vanessa’s, divided between choreography in reality and a vocal showing on the other stage. The ensemble is behind him, same as always, covering the back-up vocals and harmonies. Zay’s solo style is truer to his sensibilities, a velvet black jersey shirt half buttoned and tucked loosely into his well-fitted sleek dark pants.

In both realms, Zay delivers. To say this number has been a long time coming from him is a massive understatement. This is a performance that Zay understands intrinsically -- the perpetual Burr to Farkle’s Hamilton, the ever-striving try-hard, the accursed lover seemingly fated to wait -- that he feels in the marrow of his bones. It speaks for him in a way an interview never could, tells a story about him with so many layers, not necessarily all things he wants the world to see.

And that’s exactly why it succeeds. Because it’s raw; because it’s real. They wanted to see the true Zay Babineaux, to learn something from his routine, and this is about as far as he can take that assignment. The emotion bleeds through every movement, each complex combination or advanced ballet jump.

Not to mention the vocals they can’t hear, the ones he’s belting out straight from the soul.

I am the one thing in life I can control! I am inimitable, I am an original

Just like Vanessa, Zay leaves it all on the stage. All of his desire, his passion, his endless ambition. He rarely gives a weak performance, but this by far goes down as one of his best.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

It’s such a captivating performance, it’s actually a disappointment when it ends. The song is shorter than it feels for how epic it is, so when Zay finishes out the number and hits his final pose, shoulders back and chin held high, it feels far too soon.

Also like his competition, the silence that follows is jarring considering the thunderous applause that should be there. Charlie practically has to sit on his hands to resist the instinct, keeping his eyes on the panel a few rows ahead of him.

Gao: Thank you, Mister Babineaux. That was quite the performance.

Zay doesn’t waste time reading into her words. He simply nods, coming to stand at the lip of the stage and clasping his hands behind his back. Waiting for their barrage of questions, professional and patient. He answers all of the standard queries without missing a step, keeping his delivery even and calm. Passionate, yet refined. They got enough of his soul just now when he bared it all over the stage -- he doesn’t need to spill out any more.

It comes to the final question, which of course, Gao delivers. She has a different one for him than she did Vanessa, indicating that these last questions might be geared towards the specific applicant.

Gao: You’re obviously a competent dancer. That doesn’t come from nothing. In your opinion, what do you believe is essential to mastering the craft?

Huh. Not the kind of juggernaut he was anticipating… but at the same time, it’s a good one. Because he doesn’t have a perfect answer polished and ready to go -- he has to contemplate it, search his brain for the right one. The truth, if there is one.

And he finds it. He finds it out there in the audience, sitting a few rows behind the panel. Looking back at him, a beacon even through the shine of the stage lights, there to cheer him on.

Zay: Support.

Gao was probably expecting something different -- more arrogant, or literal. She seems a bit surprised.

Gao: Do you care to elaborate?

To be fair, Zay seems surprised by his answer too. It just slipped out, the moment he spotted Charlie. But he felt it, so he decides to run with it -- particularly when Charlie gives him an encouraging nod.

Trust yourself. You’ve got this. Zay nods.

Zay: Yes. If I’ve learned anything in all my years dancing, it’s that you cannot do any of it without the right support. Literally, mentally, emotionally. There’s the physical sense of it -- you have to have the right form, the right equipment, or you’re going to screw it all up. I learned that the hard way, pushing myself too hard and not letting my body get the proper rest. That’s why I’m standing here right now, grasping for a second chance, since I never got the opportunity to properly follow through on my first one. [ a beat ] But it’s actually the rest that I think is more crucial. The external support. I mean that in a literal sense, like trusting your fellow dancers to lift you up and catch you when the choreography requires it. But it matters just as much off the stage, if not more. I know I have talent, and I have what it takes, but I never would’ve gotten here without all of the people who lifted me up along the way. My parents, who let me follow my insane dreams and paid for dance classes and carted me back and forth to an arts school in Manhattan from Queens every day until I learned how to drive. My classmates at said school, who not only became my friends, but also challenged me and pushed me to be better. My teachers who saw my potential, guided me towards the right opportunities, and didn’t let me squander my talent. Who…

Zay trails off when he looks at Charlie again. The one who showed up just because he asked him to -- who would show up regardless, because that’s what they do for each other. Who always rallies him to go for it and follow through, who believes in his capabilities even when he’s lost the drive himself. Who rekindles that fire in his soul without thinking twice, who believed so passionately in his purpose to be something in this world that he sacrificed his own wants to set him free to do it.

The one he loves. The one he still loves, even for all the effort and denial he’s committed to convincing himself otherwise. It hits Zay like a wrecking ball, right there in the middle of his Turner audition, the all-consuming truth he can’t run from no matter how hard he tries.

He loves him. He’s still in love with Charlie Gardner.

But right now, he can’t think about that. He has to finish this fucking audition. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his heart from pounding and his head from spinning out of control.

Zay: None of it would be possible without support. I’m extremely, extremely lucky to have an incredible support system, one that I will never, ever take for granted. And I see a version of reality where Turner Academy becomes an integral part of that system… along with getting the chance to become one for my peers in the cohort.

That’s the best thing they got out of Adams, after all. A family, a team, even with all its quirks and imperfections. Charlie smiles, in total understanding.

It’s the best answer Zay could’ve given. It captures him in all his nuances, demonstrates that under the talent and bravado there is a compassionate, community-oriented man desperate to share his love of dance with people who will appreciate it. Who wants to share it with the world, once his journey takes him there. It’s the most human he’s ever let himself appear in the Turner ecosystem, let alone in front of Gao.

And seemingly, it’s all she needs. She confirms that’s all and that he’s dismissed, reminding him that the three finalists will be announced at the gala next month. Zay nods, giving a bow and thanking the panel for their time.

Charlie checks his watch. He looks reluctant to dip, but he’s out of time. He gets out of his seat and makes for the door through the darkness as Zay exits the stage.

Nothing left to do now but wait for the universe to make its decision.

INT. TURNER AUDITION VENUE - ATRIUM - NIGHT

But suddenly, the prospects of his transfer are far from Zay’s mind at the moment -- he has basically zero thoughts as he rushes out into the lobby with his duffle bag, scanning the room with his heart caught in his throat. Not sure what he’s anticipating or what he thinks he’s going to say.

Just certain that after what he experienced on stage, he needs to see Charlie.

No such luck. The atrium is empty, and Charlie is long gone. He finds this out moments later when he checks his phone, discovering a text from him.

“Sorry, had to dash because of my other plans. I’m so glad I was able to see your audition though because you were AMAZING as always. Seriously one of your best performances ever. They’re insane if they don’t accept you after that.”

“I’m very grateful I got to experience it. Thank you for inviting me. We’ll debrief soon, promise”

Zay stares at the texts, feeling bizarrely stuck. Overwhelmed by what they say, but also what they don’t say. He suddenly feels unwell, a little crazed in the head, like he used to in the fabled days of junior year. Light-headed, airy feeling in his chest, mouth uncharacteristically dry. He starts to type a response, feebly attempting to capture any of this feeling into words that he needs him to know -- but he stops himself before he can send anything.

What the hell is he thinking? He’s not thinking. Charlie is busy; he can’t text him like this. Not to mention, what the fuck would he even say? He doesn’t think he could articulate the chaos whirring in his mind no matter how hard he tried.

He has a girlfriend. One that he likes, that he should’ve thought about on that stage. One that he should probably reach out to, now that the auditions are done and there’s no reason to continue their embargo. No tangible reason, at least…

Ultimately, Zay does none of the above. He pockets his phone and texts no one, numbly heading for the doors.

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